


Servant Summer Festival: Alternate Scenes

by BreadCrumble



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: But Jalter and Salter is Berserker and Rider respectively, Developing Relationship, F/F, Fighting, Fluff, No tags for their Summer forms, References to Bond Lines, Summer, Swearing, slightly suggestive themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-19 17:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19977802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreadCrumble/pseuds/BreadCrumble
Summary: With the blazing sun, and the lingering noises of the waves; summer has come again this year.A much awaited break for Chaldea's resident Alters. They are sure to make lasting memories.





	1. Vitality Training

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a mini-chaptered fic that I will be writing while on my upcoming trip to Japan! I will be fully immersed in the FGO JP experience *smacked*.

“Aaaand Team I ❤ SJ wins!”

Along with the booming megaphone, cheers and shouts erupted from the bystanders’ area. Despite it only being the semi-finals of Chaldea’s summer volleyball tournament, a large crowd of spectators had pooled within the area. Servants and staff alike were more than curious to see the alleged “dark horse” duo of the competition.

“To say that this is a competition would be an insult to us,” a stern voice from Artoria Alter. She had already whipped out a frozen ice lolly, licking the cool cream as she exited the main arena. “You should start making way, mad dog.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Jeanne Alter rasped, still catching her breath from the game. She hobbled off, the sand feeling rather hot for her unusually cold feet. Her head spun a bit. “You’re only saying that crap since I covered for your lousy serves.”

“Oho, and you look even paler than your hair. Did you lose that much power after becoming a measly four-star?” Rider Alter scoffed, the popsicle miraculously still wedged between her teeth as she spoke.

“And even after gaining an extra one, you’re still an ice bitch queen,” grumbled the Berserker, still catching her breath. “And who came up with the shitty team name?”

“Master said it was what appealed to a majority of the spectators.”

“Well, they can all go to hell,” groaned the former saint.

“Are you against having such name?”

“… No.”

A good amount of their walk was a silent one, at least between the two Alters. As it was the summer season, it was no surprise to see Servants causing quite a stir left and right. Children Servants were building sand castles at the shore, many of which looked more like damp clumps. The smell of freshly grilled meat wafted, as a cook-out was also happening nearby. They too walked past a group doing some sort watermelon smashing event. Cries of Nobunaga erupted as a blindfolded Okita was purposely inching towards her exposed head.

“They’re doing Suikawari, not like a maid like you would know any Japanese,” Jeanne Alter dismissively explains, to which Artoria shrugs while opening a second ice cream pack.

“Oi.”

“Hmm?” Rider nonchalantly glances back at the Berserker.

By the time they had stopped walking, they were at a rather secluded area on the beach. Not too much people, and the voices were now but echoes at this distance.

“I’m heading back, I was expecting you to lead us to the restaurant since you’re a glutton—“

A hand launches to the side of Jeanne Alter’s face, to which she instinctively flinches. She feels the prickly wood of the tree against her back, but pays more attention at the offending hand that palmed its bark. Seeing that it was only Artoria’s, and how her arm is effectively trapping her from any obvious escape routes, she just dares to stare down at the shorter Alter.

“I've taken the liberty of watching all your moves up to now, assault girl.” the maid started. A surprised look flashed across Jeanne Alter’s face. “Cutting to the chase, you're not bad. As expected of the partner I chose.” Artoria drawls, now inching closer. She only stops a breath away from Jeanne’s face. This does nothing to quell the heat between the two, except for the cold ice cream now dripping onto Jeanne's collar. The popsicle on Alter's mouth is neglected once more, as the two are having a rather heated stare down. “But don't get too full of yourself. The path to a formidable team isn't built in a year.”

The Berserker reaches out to snatch the front of Artoria’s jacket. “And you shouldn’t get all that hot air in your head, maid,” she grit her teeth, a stark difference to Rider’s icy countenance. It doesn’t help how their noses are now brushing against each other, and the Berserker is quick to notice such. As if her rapidly coloring cheeks could speak, she could only muster so much verbal barbs at this point. “I-It’s rather creepy to hear you break into a speech like this. Did the volleyball hit you in the skull? Kind of wish it did.”

A cool hand now clasps onto the one grasping onto the black hoodie. “You want to win this tournament, correct?”

Jeanne’s eyebrows knit all the more, but she knows when Artoria is being deadly serious – especially a while back when she had deflected several spikes meant for the Berserker.

... Okay, she admits that Artoria is a good partner, if not great. Then again, that was the last of things she would ever confess to the Rider. Back to reality, she can feel the maid Alter now pressing her front closer, awaiting a reply. Jeanne quickly nods in response, in the hopes to get that sickly pale stomach off her own.

“Then from here on, by my side, we shall set course for the title as champions,” the Rider finishes, now removing the other Alter’s hand from her. “You better be ready for it.”

To which, the white-haired girl leers at the Alter before her. “Oh I’m born ready to wreck shit this vacation time—“ The smug grin instantly wipes off her face as Rider leans even further, her palm still pressed deeply onto the tree's surface. A generous blush now settles over the former Avenger's cheeks.

“And this is..." she can now feel a warm breath puff against her ear. The weather was already hot and humid, but this was enough to make her sweat even just a bit more. _"Why is she being too close?!"_ she mentally shouted.

"A kabedon.” Artoria flatly says, now backing away from the Berserker. “And you were saying something about my limited knowledge of cross-cultures?” she sneers, making sure that the Berserker sees every inch of her triumphant smirk.

Even from a secluded area, Jeanne Alter’s screams were very much audible.


	2. Imaginative Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It infuriated the girl, thinking that today was a perfect day to be soaked in the water – yet here she was, cooped up in her rather unkempt room, and mentally screwed by an unrealistic deadline.
> 
> But what left the Berserker even more tilted was at how whenever her mind searches for a viable person to drag to the pool, it always goes back to a certain Alter, clad in a miniskirt and a worn-out black hoodie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 in Japan! I just landed and checked into the hotel. Will probably take a while before I post up the succeeding chapters.

“Geez, it’s so hot. I want to go to the pool, but…”

_“Swimming alone is kind of boring. Who can I bring along?”_

Although ineffective to fend the humid air, Jeanne Alter started loosely fanning herself with a handkerchief. Despite the air conditioning unit being at full blast, sweat still matted the Alter’s white hair into sticky strands. She, however, had no time to pay any further attention to her physical well-being. With the deadline coming up fast, the Berserker had to get as many pages done by the hour. As much as her pen glided with grace, one could see how it was shaking from the artist’s exhaustion. How she’d rather take a break outdoors!

“Gaah, I don’t have time to think of that!” She punches the nearby wall, a visible dent at her fist’s wake. Agitated, she takes a swift chug off her fifth energy drink; bringing the can down with an audible crash. It infuriated the girl, thinking that today was a perfect day to be soaked in the water – yet here she was, cooped up in her rather unkempt room, and mentally screwed by an unrealistic deadline.

But what left the Berserker even more tilted was at how whenever her mind searches for a viable person to drag to the pool, it always goes back to a certain Alter, clad in a miniskirt and a worn-out black hoodie.

“Room service.” A loud bang of the door opening was followed by a chair getting toppled over; along with its user.

“Graceful, as expected from a self-proclaimed doujinshi artist,” Artoria Alter shut the door, pacing to the now fallen girl. “Bitch…” A few incoherent groans, before Jeanne Alter squints to return the glare at the girl above. “You could’ve knocked, asshole.”

“I did, five times to be exact,” Jeanne could feel a toe wiggle against the crown of her head. Irked, she grabs one of the Rider’s leg and tries to swing her forward – or at least hopes to upset her balance. None of these happen, and all she hears is the maid’s mirthless laugh.

“Do you like what you see, assault girl?”

“What are you playing at no—“ Her vision finally focuses above, as if it wasn’t in plain sight from her position for the past 5 minutes. But instead of the expected scream to erupt from the Berserker Alter’s mouth, she just keeps still; almost as if taking her time to admire the view of a pair of thigh-high socks, culminating to the curvy mounds that could only be Rider’s full, plush as—

“Ah, fuck what was that for?!” A clean kick to the face was what struck Jeanne Alter back to reality.

“That was your cue to shout like a pathetic madwoman at the sight of undergarments not being worn by your sorry hide,” the manga artist sits up, rubbing her temples at the sudden verbal attack. As much as she knows how a strike from a Servant can leave permanent damage, Jeanne now second-guesses if she just saw a hint of pink dust across the usually stoic Rider Alter’s cheeks.

“No way, you’re actually blushi—nnggghfff!” Salty cream assails her tongue as a fresh popsicle is shoved right into her mouth. Effective as a gag for a good 10 seconds, Jeanne Alter rips it off her mouth, hacking out blue chunks of frost.

“Are you trying to crush my windpipe, demon maid?!”

“Call me that again, and I might snap your lungs along with it. Think of it as a bonus after I get this filthy place made.”

“Ooh, someone’s offended. Well then, be a good, retarded maid and make sure to lick clean each corner of my ro—“

A sword’s flat is the last thing Jeanne Alter feels, before darkness consumes her vision instantly.

* * *

“Even so, ever since I came to this room, I wonder if that mad dog feels fulfilled.”

Fragments of mutters stir the Berserker’s consciousness. When she comes to, a relieving sensation wraps around her face – quite literally. Jeanne Alter shakes her head, droplets splashing about her face and pillows. As much as she was aware of how sweat-drenched she was, what she couldn’t understand was how her skin feels agonizingly pulled-back.

Figures, a package of frozen dinner was brutally taped onto her forehead.

“Not a single fragment of dust, these crisp-white sheets, these constantly chilled ice-pops, carbonated beverages, and frozen dinners, fufu, this is truly what you call perfect service.”

“Yo, you sound like a damned narcissist.”

Artoria breaks out of her trance, now mirroring her alert eyes to groggy golden ones. A beat passes before she once more summons her Excalibur Morgan.

“Shit, wait! Who told you to draw your holy sword? Hey stop—“

Nothing painful comes, for once. The only indication Jeanne Alter has to safely open her eyes is the sound of the blade impaling the carpeted floor. “Good, that’s how dogs like you should beg,” Rider Alter scoffs, tapping her weapon with a finger. Berserker doesn’t question at how Excalibur transforms into a vacuum cleaner, preferring to mind her business by ripping out the packaging tape mangling her already mussed hair. She stares at the now warmed dinner that was plastered to her face; admittedly it looked appetizing to eat.

“Aren’t there fever pads in the box over there?” the former saint asks, trying to wipe off the dried adhesives that refused to wear off her skin. “I used three pads, yet your overheated body used them all in less than an hour. Inconvenient at first, though, your body heat was more than sufficient to warm up several microwaveables.” Artoria coldly answers, not looking up from her work of eliminating dust bunnies underneath each furniture. The former saint grumbles something about ‘not making her into a human toaster of sorts.’ However, these thoughts are short-lived as she back-tracks on Rider’s words.

“Wait, so you’ve been here for an hour?!” Jeanne feels the cold sweat run down her chest. With that much lost time, she could already picture her unfinished manga issues rotting at a corner, unsold and unnoticed.

“Three hours and forty-seven minutes for the record, princess.” Jeanne Alter buries her face into a pillow, if only to muffle her blood-curdling scream a bit. “Well, there’s the screaming.”

“It’s all your fault!” Berserker points an accusatory finger at the unfazed maid. “Had you not hit me with your damn Morgan, then I’d still be able to make the deadline! And you call me a fucking madwoman; you’re just as impulsive and violent as me!” she screeches, not noticing how Artoria had already crossed over to the bed, seated and within an arm’s length from the fuming Alter. “I’d be outside, enjoying my vacation if not for yo—“

With a rustle, a calloused hand combs away her stray white bangs, deeply pressing her palm to the Berserkers forehead. “I believe this is a far more prime suspect for your fatigue and lack of productivity.” Jeanne Alter can feel her nape heat up, averting her gaze from the pointed one that Rider shoots her as she speaks again, “I merely bladed you earlier, yet you could not even withstand such a simple blow. It speaks volumes of your current physical health, dog. You are now on the road to recovery, but I advise against exerting any more effort for this night; lest you wish to burn yourself out like the idiot that you are.” There’s a sting in her words, yet the Dragon Witch knows in herself that there was nothing but the harsh truth laced in every statement from the King of Knights.

“And so? What’s your point? B-Being all sickeningly concerned for someone like me; what the heck—Stop ruffling my hair!” she detaches herself from Rider’s warm hand, almost hoping that she would put it back on her head. She doesn’t.

“I’m still a maid who has to look after your welfare. I would not care for _sensei_ to be working herself to death over a trivial deadline _._ ”

“… Call me that again.”

“Mad dog.”

A pillow swiftly connects to the maid’s face, followed by a low chuckle from the Rider. Strangely, Jeanne Alter finds herself joining in with a dry laugh. Though it feels weird, the stress she has been lugging begins to melt off her features – or at least that’s what the Rider notices as their peals of laughter thin out.

When only the ticking wall clock can be heard, Artoria Alter coughs into her fist, straightening out the invisible wrinkles on her jacket. “I shall now take my leave. Other rooms require my cleaning, and I’ll be delivering these meals you’ve heated to the neighboring rooms,” she straightens up and leaves behind three wrapped dinners on the desk.

“Oi, I can’t finish that much. I’m not a glutton like you.” Berserker calls out, just before the maid makes her way out of the room.

“I’m eating two of those here. Don’t you dare touch them, assault girl.” A click signaled that the door had shut.

Jeanne Alter does a double-take on the closed door, before breaking into a smile. Maybe staying indoors wasn’t such a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bond Line 2 = finished! I try to incorporate both their bond lines to fit the specific chapter; but it may sound a bit forced (sorry!). I just like seeing these two get along - even if it means them fighting and bruising each other up like the 'friends' that they are hahaha.


	3. Inquiry Enhancement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even with her lower extremities paralyzed, Rider’s arms are still ever-capable in bounding a Berserker’s attempt to escape from a punishment that was honestly well-deserved. Haphazard struggling and movements akin to lazy wrestling can describe the plight both Alters were experiencing. Nothing else could possibly further their already stressful encounter, could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H-Hi! I just made it back, and bought lots of things from Comiket + dropped by for a bit in FGO JP's anniversary event. (Disclaimer, I don't play FGO JP but I still had so much fun!) Now I'm back, I'll finish this fic up steadily. Hahaha. Apologies for the wait.
> 
> Slightly more mature stuff up ahead, but nothing too much!

“Hey, salty maid.”

The addressed girl lets out a low grunt, not bothering to look up from her work. “And what does the mad dog want from me? A refill of her pet food?” A pillow flies in her general direction, but is swiftly sliced into two by her Excali-mop.

“Just saying, that was your pillow that you chopped up,” sneered the Berserker, who was now lying face-up on the bed. “C’mon maid, be thankful that I’m using my coffee break to talk to you.”

“You must be bored out of your already shriveled mind to bother starting a conversation with me, assault girl.” Artoria deadpans, the feathers from the now cleaved cushion fluttering about. If anything, the Rider looks more irritated at the thought that she had more things to vacuum up, rather than at the Berserker’s ever-impulsive actions.

“What is your deal anyway; using both a blade and a gun – yet you consider yourself a Rider?”

“Says the Berserker who names her katanas like a 10-year old boy.”

“At least I don’t name my sword after my own sister—”

The cool metal of a revolver digs onto her chin, which only deters the Berserker’s speech, yet she tries to keep her smirk intact. Unlike their earlier skirmishes, Artoria Alter is now a thousand-fold more careful at letting any hint of emotion slip out. She raises the Berserker Alter’s chin to her eye-level, icy-cold orbs sending shivers down the former’s spine as she is forced to stare up.

“Truly, when you think of Artoria, you think of this holy sword,” the maid’s free hand then materializes once more her signature weapon, a blackened mist creating an ominous aura enveloping it. “And when you think of this holy sword, you think of me. But as you can see,” she then drags Secace down Jeanne Alter’s jawline, until it muzzle rests at the depression between her collar bones. “I can use firearms as well.”

“So throwing grenades like a headless chicken surely makes you an expert,” Berserker bites back, now grasping the other Alter’s hand that is armed with the pistol. She then deftly knocks her wrist against Artoria’s clenched hand, attempting to disarm Secace. This is how Jeanne Alter finds out of Rider’s iron grip, and is rewarded with a crushing reversal of getting her arm twisted behind her. Her bare stomach connects with the bed’s foam, which dulls her landing only by a fraction. What shoots pain into her back is the bone-snapping strength in Artoria Alter’s hands on her now bruised wrists.

Scowling at her aggressor, Berserker was going to have to hope for a miracle, as her position of being sprawled face-first onto the white linen was far from her liking. By now, the King of Knight’s weapons had both dispersed; as the maid’s hands are more pre-occupied in keeping the former Avenger’s head and arms locked underneath her. Even with combat training during her off-times from making doujinshi, Jeanne Alter was no where near proficient in unarmed fights against an actual knight. Surely, Artoria would be much more destructive with her renowned sword, but this handicap does not deter how she further presses the other Alter down to the bed.

“Feel like giving up? If you plea like the pathetic country girl that you are, then even a king such as I can grant reprieve to someone of your status.”

“Yeah? Start pleading to this!” With every ounce of her leg-strength, she threw a backwards kick. When her shin connected to fabric, Jeanne Alter can only imagine – with a shit-eating grin – the wave of pain she had delivered to the unsuspecting maid. What did not prepare the captive manga artist was at how a sudden weight pushes down on her back and shoulders. A stilted groan tickles her ears, and even as her head and wrists are released by the Rider, the idea of freedom is now even further than ever.

Jeanne Alter now has to deal with a semi-conscious Artoria Alter, crushing her underneath while writhing from an unexpectedly powerful groin kick.

“You wretched…” she slurred off, causing the tiny hairs in Berserker’s ear to rise at an alarming rate with the assault of Rider’s ragged breathing. She tries to crawl out from under, only to receive a vice-grip on her shoulder from a royally pissed off maid Alter.

“Fuck, let go of me!” She could’ve sworn she heard the sound of a bone cracking under the hand digging quite violently on her skin. “Shit that’s my writing hand, you’re squeezing it too tightly—“

“Noisy peasant. Would you prefer I attack yours as well to return the favor?”

Even with her lower extremities paralyzed, Rider’s arms are still ever-capable in bounding a Berserker’s attempt to escape from a punishment that was honestly well-deserved. Haphazard struggling and movements akin to lazy wrestling can describe the plight both Alters were experiencing. Nothing else could possibly further their already stressful encounter, could it?

At least until Osakabehime sneezed from the door left ajar.

“Oakie! You were supposed to keep it down!” A chuckle then followed as the door further creaked opened. Musashi was grinning and flashed a thumbs up to both Alters. “You guys keep going, I told Oakie to come back later, but she insisted on dropping by here to ask about writing off some non-family friendly scenes of sorts,” it was unnerving to see the swordsman say these while happily staring at the two Alters on the bed.

“I-I thought I could get some advice on how to hurdle my artblock for the mature doujin pages but,” the bespectacled Assassin glanced at the way Artoria’s body was still flush against Jeanne’s. “I suppose the words you hurled at each other were more than enough inspiration on its own. For that, you have my gratitude, Alter-sensei.”

“IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK!” Jeanne Alter bleats out as she tries in vain again to pry herself off the king. She is only met with silence from both the duo of eavesdroppers, and the fallen Alter behind her. Her face has now taken a shade darker than the intruding Saber’s hair. When she dares to shoot a glare at the Rider behind her, she is only met with a blank face, brows slightly creased from the ebbs of pain earlier. “Say something, stupid maid!”

Artoria Alter lets her face return to its usual icy continence – and lightly brushes the front of her hips against the curve of Jeanne Alter’s round bottom.

“Alrighty~ You two play nice!” Musashi waves and wheels away a now passed-out Osakabehime. The door shuts close with a click, and the room is now deathly quiet.

“Do you still want to continue?” Rider Alter whispers to the Berserker’s ear. She doesn’t expect any replies, which prompts the maid to relax herself from straddling the other girl for a good half an hour. Jeanne doesn’t move a muscle; her face now turned away from the Rider’s direction.

“Somehow this is getting thoroughly tiresome,” Jeanne Alter groans, still unmoving. Now shoulder-to-shoulder and comfortably lying down, Artoria proceeds to scan the room to see if any more cleaning was needed. She was a bit behind schedule, as there were still shelves of paper and reference books that needed sorting, and the clutter of feathers from their earlier fight was still an issue to take care of. Not to mention, that only meant they were down by one pillow in their already dwindling supply of cushions.

But that was an issue for another day (or maybe an hour), as Artoria Alter feels an arm snake around hers. “If things are tiresome for you, then the logical thing to do is to rest. Even a Berserker can’t churn out quality work while running at barely 3 hours of sleep.”

“That’s not what I mean, idiot,” an endearing nickname both Alters had learned to accept from each other.

“Then what?” mutters the Rider, now resting the side of her head onto the crown of Berserker’s. “Make yourself clear; instead of feigning intimacy with how you’re pressing your body against my arm.”

“Ugh!” Jeanne Alter lets out a tired sigh, almost startling the girl next to her. “You’re such a goddamn busybody. Yet it annoys me so much how you’re actually good at the shit you’re doing. Cleaning, fighting, and even in that tournament… is there anything you’re actually bad at?” Artoria remains silent, actually surprised for this sudden confession of sorts.

“But what really gets on my nerves is how you’re using all your summer time on being a maid. Like, aren’t you supposed to be a king of sorts? What kind of train of logic did you derail when coming to a conclusion that vacation means wasting it all on housework?” Berserker pauses, seeing the stunned reaction still on the blackened King of Knights’ face. “And now you tell me to rest? When someone like you is working even twice harder than any effort I can muster? Even I’d feel like shit knowing that.”

The clock fills the room with its slow ticking. Jeanne Alter now stares at the ceiling, suddenly feeling the whole weight of the situation crash onto her brain – which is probably on overdrive and trying to retract her awfully cheesy statements.

“Is that your twisted, roundabout way of saying you care?” Artoria now leans closer to Jeanne’s side. The latter’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, as she stares right back at golden, inquisitive eyes. “Do you want another pillow thrown at you, dummy?”

“And is that your way of showing affection for your loyal servant?” A fist instead rams against an ever-ready palm of the Rider, effectively blocking the blushing Berserker’s attempt at getting back for Rider’s rather smooth lines.

“You really annoy me, you know that?” Jeanne Alter says between smirks.

“And I hate to admit, but you are catching up to my level when it comes to physical prowess.”

“Oho, was it because I was able to land a clean hit between your legs?”

“Do say that again, mad dog. I’m sure Osakabehime would truly appreciate using your words as another dialogue for her adult fantasies.”

“S-Shut up!” Jeanne Alter squeaks, then with that moment of weakness, Artoria reverses her palm and pulls the Berserker right onto her chest. Muffled protests are heard as the French maiden bats against the maid’s shoulders, but comfortingly cool fingertips run down Jeanne’s back.

“Truly, it feels strange that someone like you would actually think these. But for that, you do have some of my respect and gratitude, Jeanne Alter.”

“W-Who’s concerned about you? Idiot…” Then the Dragon Witch realizes that wasn’t even the word the former Saber had used.

“Hmph, besides, a combat maid like myself should be able to be on top of everything. It is no different from being a king tasked to protect his people. Should I not be in my best shape for assuring my master’s welfare, then I cannot claim to have completed either of my roles." The slow, rhythmic strokes on her long white hair now feel soothing, almost tempting her to sleep. "I may have long resigned myself the title as a ruler, but the act of service is a badge painted on me for time immemorial; and something I admittedly feel to as second nature. When I comes to my intuition, and the sharpness of my eyes, I cannot fall short to any of the Knights of Round – may it be as their former king, or as a mere maid.” As much as this confession does explain a lot to Jeanne Alter, she cannot help but feel relaxed at the sound of Artoria’s deep set voice.

And what ironically cuts her off is the sound of both their stomachs growling in unison.

Automatically, Jeanne Alter backs away from their awkward embrace (she will never admit to have engaged in one, however). There’s so much to take in, but what Jeanne chooses to notice is the pink dusting on Rider Alter’s cheeks. “W-Well hearing you say all that is quite a thing. But shouldn’t you cook something for us? It’s way past dinnertime already.”

“Actually, about that,” the maid starts, and fishes through her pocket for several BB Dollars and Mimi bills. “You did mention about my ability in servitude, for which I will take as a compliment,” Artoria Alter smirks as the blush returns to the other girl’s face. “But I digress; as much as I can make use of any weapon except for an ax, the same rule applies to my lack of skill in wielding a kitchen knife.”

“Oh.” Both Alters take a good minute to stare at each other. However, the Berserker just sits up and extends a hand to her companion.

“Well, there’s no helping it right?! I’ll have to school this maid to at least know how to make omurice and the like. Afterall, convenience store food can get tiring.”

She will never declare of her ulterior motive to wanting to taste the maid’s cooking. But by now, Artoria was quite used to a very dishonest Jeanne.

“No assurances that you won’t get burnt a second time with me in the kitchen,” retorts the Rider, but willingly accepts the Berserker’s outstretched hand. There’s an unusual tug at her heart, but Jeanne Alter chooses to focus instead at the hand now warmly enveloped in hers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the inactivity, I made this chapter unnecessarily longer than usual huhu. Please stick around for the next one!

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the tags, this will be based on both Summer!Jalter and Summer!Salter's bond lines. Can you spot them in the fic? There will be several references to many canon material (such as the team name coming from Battle of New York 2018 - wow DW you aren't even hiding that you're shipping them). I will make the end notes as a section to make mention of these, if missed. :)


End file.
